


Surveillance: The Remix

by koalathebear



Series: What If? [2]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Advent Calendar, Challenge Response, Christmas, F/M, Gen, Remix, Season/Series 01, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: Pinch Hit story for 20 December 2016 for the Advent Calendar Ficathon at the Carrie/Quinn community on livejournal.Set in season 1.  It's set just after my earlier fic One Night Stand from the What If? series.What if Quinn had been one of Carrie's casual pick-ups?  What if they had encountered one another in season 1?  What if Quinn had been around to help Carrie to investigate Brody and she'd never become sexually involved with Brody?  What if it had been Christmas at some point during that time?  :)The muse has been absent for Homeland for a while, but I put my hand up to be a pinch hitter for the fic challenge so we didn't have gaps so I gave her an almighty prod to get her out of deep freeze.





	

*

The key turned in the lock, the door pushed open and Carrie made her way into the entrance hall of her apartment, her brow creased in a frown. Visibly distracted and tense, she tossed her handbag onto the hallway table.

Once in the bedroom, she kicked off her shoes, threw her coat onto her bed, pulled off her blouse, skirt and stockings. Standing in just a slip, she ignored the inviting sight of the bed, rushing instead into the bathroom to wipe down her thighs, wash her face, brush her teeth and hide evidence of the night's activities.

While definitely not the first time she'd staggered home after a night of no-strings sex with a stranger … this morning she was running late for Estes' high priority briefing … on top of that, Peter Quinn's knowing smile continued to linger in her thoughts in a manner she found more than a little unsettling.

Swallowing her meds quickly, she glanced at herself in the mirror briefly before turning away almost dismissively. Pulling on her coat she started to hurry out the door, darting back momentarily to pull the fake engagement ring off her finger and toss it carelessly into the glass bowl in her bedroom. 

The slight but distracting stab of pain in her temples reminded her that she'd had almost no sleep the night before. It was going to be a very long drive to Langley…

*

Estes was walking back and forth at the front of the room when she arrived at the briefing.

"Last night, at 2300 GMT, one of our ground assets produced a live lead on an enemy operating base in the Korengal Valley…." Estes intoned as he gestured at the screen. As Carrie entered the room, he broke off his monologue to remark pointedly,"Nice of you to join us, Carrie. How is it you are the only analyst in this section that can't get to a briefing on time? I wanted the whole group to hear this."

Carrie resisted the urge to answer back, choosing instead to sit down and feign attentiveness as she exchanged a speaking glance with Rosie.

Estes paused a moment before continuing. "Within the hour, Delta Team was on site where they identified multiple insurgents on our hit list. Minutes later, two UH-60 Blackhawk gunships lit the target with over 8,000 rounds. All 13 hostiles were confirmed kills. But, during the sweep, one of the deltas found something else a padlocked door to an interior room. Turns out he's one of ours. Marine Sergeant Nicholas Brody. MIA since early 2003 and presumed dead until now."

Carrie stiffened. "What happened to his partner? Brody was a scout sniper. They work in pairs. Corporal Thomas Walker also went missing that day."

Estes stared at her, torn between wanting to ignore her and wanting to answer the question at the same time. "According to Sergeant Brody, Walker was killed during their captivity."

While her co-workers were still smiling and giving themselves self-congratulatory applause, Carrie rose frowningly, grabbed her belongings and vanished from the room without another word to anyone, completely oblivious to the heavy scowl on Estes' face.

*

_An American prisoner of war has been turned._

Why didn't anyone ever listen to her? Estes with his head buried in the sand – or halfway up his own ass. Saul with his sanctimonious, ponderous line of questioning ... It was infuriating. 

Frowning fiercely, she strode down the corridor without looking up and collided hard into what felt like a brick wall.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, the breath knocked out of her, staggering a little as strong hands caught her firmly, stopping her from tipping backwards to land unceremoniously on her ass.

"Carrie?" a familiar yet unfamiliar voice questioned.

" _You?_ " she demanded incredulously, looking up into Peter Quinn's slightly bemused gaze. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He held up two hands as if in surrender. "Not stalking you. I work here," he told her, staring down at her security pass. "As do you apparently."

Her gaze raked over his pass as well. Same colour. Same dead pan mug shot, staring directly into the camera.

"I would have driven you here if I'd known – " he started to say.

"I had to get home to change … don't tend to come rushing straight into work from … " She didn't finish the sentence and he smiled crookedly.

"You OK? You look – "

"Pissed off? Yeah, I am."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. Besides, you probably don't have the clearance," she told him provocatively.

He gave a low laugh. "Try me - you'll find I'm full of surprises," he told her. Standing in the corridor before her, his blue eyes were bright with interest. He certainly didn't look as if he'd been up half the night with her, although his shirt despite the early hour was already slightly crumpled.

*

Quinn looked sardonic as the two of them stood in the office of the grizzled man with a thick beard who looked at them in perplexity.

"Go nuts," Pat gestured, sliding over and letting Carrie swipe Quinn's pass through the scanner as she studied the information on the screen, glancing at the photograph and up at Quinn who dutifully recreated the expression from the photograph on his security pass.

"You'll find it all checks out," he told her with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

"Clearance level does," she agreed. "But what about the rest? It's all a bit empty … Peter Quinn from where?" she demanded.

"Same place as you."

"Officer?" 

"Analyst."

"Doesn't say any of that here," she retorted.

Quinn shrugged. "Not my fault if the paperwork isn't up to date."

"So, let's talk shop. How many years?" she demanded.

"Six at Langley, four on the Venezuela desk."

"The cartels?" she questioned, suspiciously.

"Like that. Are we done with the meet and greet? To be honest - seems a little bit late for that," he replied with a crooked grin that would have been endearing if she wasn't feeling extremely sceptical.

"How come we've never met before?" 

"Beats me … I've been around ... here and there …"

"Guys- no offence, but maybe take it to the coffee shop if you want to get to know one another better?" Pat suggested. "I kind of need my computer back – you know – to do my job?"

Carrie stared at Quinn who returned her gaze calmly. "Happy to listen if you have something you feel like getting something off your chest," he told her coolly.

"You want me to tell a complete stranger – "

"Not a complete stranger," he corrected her.

"A one night stand I fucked once – "

"More than once ... three times if you count – "

"Do not say another word," she told him warningly, her lips twitching despite herself. 

*

Quinn lifted an eyebrow as they sat side by side next to a noisy fountain, speaking in low voices where no one could hear them. "So you think that Abu Nazir planted intelligence in his own safe house just so our guys could recover Brody?"

"You think I'm crazy." Her voice was defensive and it wasn't a question.

Quinn was silent for a long moment. "The easier option would have been to drop him near a checkpoint and make it look like he escaped …"

"I know – I know … You're going to ask me why he would sacrifice 13 trained fighters," she muttered, feeling frustrated all over again.

Her eyes widened with shock when he shook his head. "No, I'm not," he told her with a tight smile that didn't reach his blue eyes. "Anyone who's studied Abu Nazir knows that he's intelligent. He's a strategist … maybe he's playing the long game."

Carrie stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Yes! This way, no one suspects a thing." She paused. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"Are you?"

"Sometimes," she replied dryly. "But not about this …As I told Saul … Brody's due home from Germany tomorrow morning, which gives us just under 22 hours to tap his phones, wire his house, follow him wherever he goes…"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "I don't know the guy, but I seriously doubt that your Saul would have signed off on something like that …"

"You're right. He didn't", Carrie replied gloomily. "The White House needs a poster boy for the war and Brody's being served up on a platter …"

"So what's the play?" he questioned.

Carrie lowered her voice. "If I'm right, if he is a terrorist, I need eyes and ears on Brody from the minute he steps off the plane… Saul's only going to back me if I can prove that the safe house leak was planted. Or at least give him a reason to doubt its authenticity."

"Not easy …"

"No shit, Sherlock … I'm in the penalty box, 5,000 miles away from my contacts …" He lifted an eyebrow. Her mouth twisted. "It's possible I bribed my way into an Iraqi prison and caused an international crisis."

Something akin to admiration glowed in Quinn's eyes. "Something tells me that you aren't intending to roll over and play dead, Carrie," he remarked, looking more than a little intrigued.

"Can I trust you?" she asked him, tilting her head slightly.

"What do you think?" he questioned.

"I'm not sure what I think about you yet … " she conceded slowly, her expression still wary.

*

"Why are you still in town, Peter?" Dar Adal questioned pointedly, his tone curious.

"I didn't realise I was supposed to get the hell out of dodge after my debrief," Quinn drawled as he stood in the car park at Langley, cell phone against his ear as he studied the people walking in and out of the building.

"I confess – I had expected that you would want to spend your vacation time elsewhere," Dar observed, suspicion in his voice.

"Well there's still that ER nurse …" Quinn drawled meaningfully.

Dar snorted. "Does she still think you're an accountant? You do know that that relationship is not going to end up anywhere."

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Quinn demanded and Dar gave a short sound that in someone possessed of a sense of humour might have been a laugh. 

"Fine, spend your vacation stateside if that's what you want," he replied, concerns allayed.

As he hung up, Quinn slid his phone back in his pocket and pulled out his car keys, tossing them up in the air and catching them again. He didn't have to check the address again, he'd already memorised it.

*

Quinn gave a low whistle as he studied the monitors in Carrie's apartment. Virgil looked at him suspiciously. "Who's this?" he demanded of Carrie, clearly very unhappy with a stranger appearing unannounced in the midst of their highly illegal operations.

"Quinn – meet Virgil and Max … meet Peter Quinn. He's a … co-worker."

Quinn's mouth pulled into a tight smile and then he turned and looked at the monitors. 

"Eyes and ears in every room?" he asked. Virgil gave him an irritable look before gesturing at the monitors.

"You've got eyes - see for yourself," he told him, turning them all on. 

Bedroom 2. Kitchen. Den. Living room. Entry hall. Master bedroom.

"You done?" Carrie demanded and Virgil rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Told you, the feed will be live by the time Sergeant Brody gets back to his house."

A little later, when the feed still wasn't live, Carrie's impatience was clearly starting to get the better of her. "You said you'd be ready by the time they got home," her voice sharp and tight.

"It's just a minor glitch, give me a few minutes," Virgil retorted as Quinn walked to the far wall and studied the countless photographs, articles and charts covering the wall of Carrie's living room in an almost dizzying display of complexity. Meticulously detailed, painstakingly comprehensive it was the epitome of feverish obsession.

"Got something you want to say?" Carrie demanded, her eyes snapping with challenge. Quinn shook his head, his eyes scanning the articles swiftly, lingering briefly on the photographs, the connections between individuals, the timelines, processing and considering.

"Clearly you've been at this for some time …" There was no sign of judgment in his eyes, only cool consideration.

"You have no idea …" She paused and stared at him. "Want a drink?" she asked abruptly and he shook his head.

"No it's fine. I can take the first shift if you have to get back to work."

"You don't have to work?"

"I've had my debrief after my last tasking. I've got some downtime before the next …"

"And you're going to waste your precious free time helping me with my … _tasking_ ," she asked him, sceptically, emphasising her words exaggeratedly.

He shrugged. 

"Haven't you got something better to do with your time? Family?" A shadow passed over his face, barely a flicker and he shrugged again.

"Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Carrie. Apart from Laurel and Hardy over there, it's not like you're anywhere near properly resourced for the type of surveillance mission you're trying to run here …"

"And in return – what do you get?" she asked him sceptically, an upward inflection in her voice.

He gave a short, humourless laugh. "Don't worry - I don't have to trade favours for sex, Carrie. Your virtue is completely safe with me," he assured her.

She was conscious of a feeling that might have almost been disappointment.

*

When Carrie let herself back in her apartment, she saw Quinn leaning back on her sofa, eyes closed. "Relax. There's no one home … they've all gone out," he told her without opening his eyes and before she could reproach him for falling asleep on the job.

"You alone?" she asked, glancing around.

"Virgil left ages ago … Max just left …"

She sat down on the couch and put a cup of coffee before him. He opened one eye and reached out a hand to pick it up.

"So I figure that since I'm breaking like about twelve federal laws by being here helping you with your special project that I deserve a few details about … you …"

"Like what?" she asked warily.

"I'm interested in what you hide in your aspirin bottle instead of aspirin," he remarked, reaching into his pocket and handing her one of her capsules.

"You went through my things?" Carrie demanded, anger kindling in her eyes. "The fuck, Quinn!"

"Relax. Your little friend Max had a headache … came and asked me what this was before he took it. I suggested he might want to take the aspirin and not the clozapine."

Carrie stiffened and her eyes became shuttered and very cold.

"So .. knowing what I know about what clozapine is for, I guess I just want to know if I'm risking my job, liberty, not to mention my ass for something real – or a schizophrenic's manic delusions …" His voice was cool and unprovocative.

Carrie's lips pressed together firmly for a moment and then she shrugged. "I'm bipolar. Stable when I'm on my meds. This is not the illness talking," she told him flatly, gesturing at the monitor, the wall covered in papers.

"I take it the agency doesn't know?"

"No one at work could know."

"So I take it you don't see one of the Agency shrinks."

"Fuck no."

"Security clearance," he nodded, his expression thoughtful but not particularly surprised. "And what about me?"

"Well … " she gestured at the monitors, her back wall. "You know all of this …we're risking Federal Prison together … "

"So you'll just kill me and dump my body in the Potomac when you're done?"

"Something like that." Something like relief was in her eyes. "I've had … _this_ since college. Been dealing with it since I was 22 … I wrote a 45-page manifesto declaring I'd reinvented music." She gave a wry smile. "The professor I handed it to escorted me to Student Health… I wasn't even in his class."

"Having a stressful job doesn't really help the condition, I'd imagine," he remarked dryly.

She shrugged. "I can't imagine doing anything else …" her gaze flickered to the screen. "They're back …" She glanced at him.

"Look you've been here all day – I can take this shift …" she told him awkwardly.

"Nah, I'm fine. We can take the night shift together. It's not like I have any plans. Like Indian food?" he asked her unexpectedly.

"Uh, or Greek?" she suggested instead.

"Greek. Sure. I like olives," he conceded agreeably.

"I know a place."

"Good. I need to get some fresh air." She watched bemused as he jotted down the address and walked out the door.

*

The Brody family were eating a dinner in what appeared to be awkward silence. Sitting on Carrie's couch, Carrie and Quinn sat and ate their dinner, keeping tabs on what was taking place on the screen but also talking with one another at the same time.

"Where are you from?" she wanted to know.

"Philadelphia."

"The fancy part? Mainline?" she probed.

"Like that. Hill School, Harvard."

"Oh, good creds," she noted, not sure if she believed him.

"Ah, it's a requirement in our family," he replied.

"You ever go back to Philly?" she questioned.

He shook his head. "There's no good Indian food," he replied lightly.

Both turned and stared at the monitor where Brody and his wife were preparing for bed. 

"Well this is awkward," Quinn remarked dryly as Carrie started packing the empty take-out boxes and taking them to the trash.

"What's going on?" Her gaze flickered back to the monitor where it became clear that Brody was having performance issues … and ended up needing to masturbate in order to finish … 

"Well that is pretty crappy for everyone concerned …" Carrie commented.

"Not uncommon in men with PTSD … "

"Poor fucker," Carrie muttered, sitting down on the couch and stared at the screen blindly. 

"Worst porn ever," Quinn agreed as the Brody and his wife lay side by side in bed, not moving, not touching one another.

*

"Well this is just adorable," Virgil commented as he walked into the room and stared down at Quinn stretched out on the couch and Carrie draped over him, snoring slightly.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter after 8:00," Virgil told her.

"The debrief! I'm late! - Shit!"

"Want a donut?" Virgil asked her. 

Carrie shook her head but Quinn reached out and took one. "Two calls came in; both hang-ups."

"Yeah?" Virgil questioned.

"One last night, one this morning. Both times the wife answered; both times there was no one on the other end of the line."

"Did a number pop up on a tracer?" 

"No, and the calls were blocked," Quinn replied at the same time Carrie demanded,"Is there any way that - "

"No, not without a subpoena."

"Look, Virgil, if somebody's trying to make contact with Brody, it'll only happen once."

"And when it does, we'll be there," Virgil told her firmly. "All right?" he asked, looking at Quinn for support.

Quinn nodded. "It's all good. Relax."

"All right. I've got to get dressed." She glanced at Quinn. "There's a shower in the spare bedroom – feel free to freshen up," she told him.

"Moved in already, have we?" Virgil asked drolly.

*

When Carrie arrived home, Quinn was already sitting on the couch watching the monitors. At his side was Max, with a large bowl of popcorn of all things.

"Seriously?" Carrie demanded, staring at them.

"I like popcorn," Max replied with quiet dignity.

"How did the briefing go?" Quinn asked, interrupting her before she could snap back at Max.

Carrie scowled. "Smooth … scripted … there's definitely something off about him … vague about Walker … no explanation as to why he was kept alive for eight years…"

Max looked puzzled. Quinn glanced at him. "The first 72 hours after a soldier's capture are critical.  
What he knows can be used by the enemy during that period to devastating effect. After that, he stops being a source of actionable intelligence fairly quickly – he becomes useless." His explanation was matter-of-fact but there was a slight edge to his voice. His eyes were abstracted as he processed the implications of Carrie's information.

"Any mention of Nazir?" he asked.

"Of course not. Claims his interrogator was am Al Qaeda commander named Zayadi. Claims he's never met Nazir."

"Bullshit. Nazir was in charge of coordinating attacks against coalition forces at the time. Of course he fucking interrogated the only two American P.O.W.'s in his custody."

"My thoughts exactly!" Carrie exclaimed hotly. "Anyway, it was a bust .. Estes called me off, slapped me down. Asshole," she muttered. "What's happened here?" she asked.

"Brody just lied to his wife," Quinn informed her. "Again. Clearly honesty is not his strong suit."

"Tell me."

"Virgil's tailing his town car. Brody just said he was still at Langley, but he told his driver to drop him off at Bluemont Park."

"This is it. He's gotta be making contact …"

*

Unfortunately it turned out to be only the first of many, many frustrations, setbacks and false leads. Fortunately – or unfortunately - Quinn wasn't around when Saul discovered the illegal surveillance.

The encounter had not gone well – quite the opposite, and for one brief, insane moment a desperate Carrie had even contemplated trying to seduce Saul … Fortunately, an image of Quinn's sardonic smirk had sprung into her head just as Saul had been berating her and ordering her to report to IG first thing in the morning.

By the time Quinn returned, Carrie was in the midst of what was building up to be an impressive panic attack.

"You're going to wear a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like that," Quinn remarked from where he was sprawled in an armchair watching her move around the room, pacing restlessly … "What's wrong with you tonight?" he demanded of her.

"Saul of course - " she told him helplessly. "And I'm almost out of fucking meds," she muttered in a low voice. "My sister's not picking up …"

"I'll drive you over," he told her.

"I can drive."

"Not like this," he told her very firmly, looking at the wild-eyed expression in her eyes. In the end, his presence had proved an almost welcome distraction, with a somewhat delighted Maggie interrogating both of them about Quinn. Who he was. How they'd met. How long they'd known one another.

"He's a co-worker," Carrie had told her.

"A co-worker who knows about your condition … you must trust him …"

"Maggie – please, just get me some more meds … I can feel it .. I'm about to lose it …"4

Driving back to Carrie's place, Quinn remarked,"Your sister should join the CIA – she'd be great at interrogation."

"Not funny," Carrie mumbled, closing her eyes and leaning back in her seat, the beginnings of a headache slamming against the back of her eyes.

*

When Quinn had finally met Saul, the two men had sized one another up a little warily. "You serious, Carrie – you let a complete stranger in on this? You out of your fucking mind?"

"His clearance checks out and I needed help …" _And you wouldn't help me …_ her eyes accused. 

"You think there's something in this?" he'd asked, studying Quinn's face narrowly, suspiciously.

"Brody's hiding something … there's something there…"

Saul had leaned on a judge who owned him a favour to get a FISA warrant for four weeks. It hadn't been easy and he hadn't been happy, but it had been something. 

At the same time, he'd also put out some feelers to check up on Quinn's background. The fact that he was unable to dig up anything made him even more suspicious and wary of the cool-eyed man with the tight smile and watchful manner.

"What do you think?" Virgil had questioned and Saul had shaken his head.

"Can't quite place him … he's a good analyst – I'll give him that. Smart, sharp … but something about him doesn't quite check out."

"Want me to tail him?"

"Tail him where? From what I can see he fucking lives here these days," Saul had retorted. "Are they fucking?" he'd demanded and Virgil had shaken his head.

"Strangely enough – doesn't seem like it. He's crashed in the spare room – takes his shift like the rest of us …brings food for us … jumps in when Carrie gets too intense… " Virgil's voice displayed a reluctant admiration or even liking for Quinn.

"Well keep an eye on him – I don't trust Agency people with a blank page for their history …"

*

"Banging the best friend …Fuck me," Quinn had muttered, cringing a little as they'd watched Faber and Jessica Brody going at it with fierce and uninhibited fervour.

"Oldest story in the world …"

"Now he's going to tell her everything's going to be just fine …" Quinn predicted.

"And it's not .."

"Not by a long shot …"

"Fuck this … we're here to find evidence that Brody's a traitor .. not watch his wife fucking his best friend … this is going nowhere fast."

"These things take time, Carrie."

"We've just had the first confirmed sighting of Abu Nazir in seven years… and Saul still won't give me more bodies to help …"

"I'd say the FISA was already a big fucking deal, Carrie…"

"It's not enough …and fucking Max – he lost Brody today!"

Quinn winced. If Brody had one 15-second meeting with one contact, that's all it would take… 

"He's definitely not as good at you when tailing Brody," Carrie muttered.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "A compliment? I'm honoured."

"Don’t be. You haven't dug up anything on him yet either."

That made him laugh despite himself. Aside from Carrie, he was the only one who took meticulous enough surveillance notes to satisfy Carrie. He was also better at tailing Brody.

"You have to pick one or the other – I can't be here watching on the monitor if you want me near Brody's house ready to follow him.

"I hate it when you try to reason with me," she retorted and he grinned, reaching out his hand for the half-eaten muffin on her plate. 

*

Letting herself in the apartment, Carrie glanced towards Quinn who was sitting in front of the monitors. 

"Any new developments?"

"No … although Faber has got to be wishing that Brody doesn't come back so he can keep doing the wife."

"Is Virgil still pissed at me?" Carrie wanted to know.

"You did tear him a new one about not putting a camera in the garage …"

"So you're siding with him."

"Well he had certain budgetary constraints. He's doing a good job given what we've got."

"I said I was sorry!"

"Ungraciously."

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?"

"Probably. Not that you deserve it," Quinn told her bluntly.

"That's fair," she conceded reluctantly. 

"That dinner?" he asked her, glancing at the grocery bag dangling from one hand. 

"TV dinners for two ..." she replied, a hint of apology in her voice.

It had become a routine of sorts. Both had spent many a night stretched out on the sofa or draped in the armchair.

Later that night, after they'd finished their far from cordon bleu means, he told her, "You should go to bed … I can keep watch tonight …"

"Nah .. can't sleep anyway," she muttered, sprawled on the couch beside him in unalluring striped pyjamas.

"Want a hot chocolate?"

"With marshmallows please …"

*

Inexplicably, they hadn't slept with one another since the one night stand. It was almost as though each was waiting for the other to make the first move, each too proud to be the one to ask or indicate interest …

So by default, Carrie had found herself with a platonic housemate … At least he wasn't a freeloader, though. Apart from surveillance, he made himself useful. 

"Fixed your locks."

"They were broken?"

"How do you think Saul let himself in the other day and found your set-up. Don't really think you want people wandering in and out when you have all this equipment here …"

"I take it you fixed the light bulb in the bathroom, too?"

"It was flickering …"

"Right."

They stared at one another for a long moment. "I feel like I should thank you."

"For the light bulb?"

"For everything."

"That would feel a bit weird."

"Yeah probably," she agreed and wandered off towards the laundry without thanking him.

 

*

"Saul refuses to extend the FISA. Rolling up this operation is a fucking mistake," Carrie exclaimed heatedly. "I need to find something here!" she exclaimed, her face panicked, her voice sharp.

"We have to be patient," Quinn told her firmly.

"Quinn. Fuck being patient. I don't have time to be patient. I'm running out of time … something's going to happen – I can feel it …" Her voice trembled, her eyes were wild.

"Hey," he told her gently. "Have you eaten? There's some spaghetti in the cupboard.  
Unlike everything else in your kitchen, it's only ten years past its expiration date. I'm sure it won't kill us." His smile was crooked.

Something about the firmness in his voice, the quietness of his gaze calmed her. "All right," she told him in a slightly less anxious voice, allowing her frustration and panic to drain out of her.

She continued watching the monitors while he went into the kitchen to prepare their meal. Her stomach grumbled audibly when she could smell the aromas coming from the kitchen. 

"That smells good," she remarked as he handed her a plate of spaghetti. A few forkfuls of spaghetti later, she muttered,"This. This is good," she told him grudgingly. "How the hell did you make this out of what was in my kitchen?"

"I'm good at improvising," he said with a shrug, eating his own spaghetti.

"Resourceful, too," she remarked. "Next you're going to tell me you can make a pipe bomb from household materials."

He paused in his eating and glanced at her. "With the internet, everyone can make one of those," he replied lightly, his gaze steady, his eyes completely bland.

They watched as Brody stretched out on the floor of the bedroom again, something Quinn had explained was common for many returning servicemen. Jessica's attempts to have sex were thwarted and yet again, Brody could only get release by jerking off on his own …

"Poor fucking bastard," Quinn muttered.

"Maybe that's something I can use… I need to do something more pro-active … go to one of his Veteran Support Group meetings … his relationship with his wife has gone to shit, he's lonely, I could – "

"Really not big on the honey trap play," Quinn drawled slowly, a gleam in his eyes.

"Please don't tell me you're jealous, Quinn. That's just ridiculous."

His mouth quirked into a smile and allowed his gaze to linger on her face. She felt heat build and she looked away from him sharply.

"Fine, I won't fuck him – but you and I both know that it's the fastest way to gain his trust."

"But definitely not the only way. Please tell me you're not attracted to him – after everything we've seen – after everything we've learned about him," he said, gesturing at the monitors.

"God no," she said with a shudder. "Not my type at all."

"So just what is your type, Carrie?" he asked blandly, feigning disinterest.

"So what are you suggesting instead?" she demanded. "You go to the meetings instead? Bond with him?"

"Hey I don't want to sleep with him either," Quinn joked and that made her smile reluctantly.

Carrie turned her head towards him and then almost recoiled. "What the fuck is that?" she demanded in astonishment, noticing something in her living room for the first time.

"It's a Christmas tree," he replied, pointing out the obvious. 

"Well please, just go ahead and make yourself at home," she retorted sarcastically. "It's not enough that you take over my spare bedroom … most of the kitchen … now you're fucking redecorating?"

He shrugged negligently. "Virgil and Max thought your house needed a bit of Christmas cheer …"

"And you just let them?"

He smiled. "It's been a few years since I've been in-country for Christmas … heard carols … thought I'd let you be the Grinch instead of me."

The room smelled like pine and the minimalist ornaments twinkled cheerfully at her as if they were attempting to coax her out of her dark mood.

"What do you want for Christmas this year, Quinn?" she asked him questioningly, standing before him, arms crossed and eyes slightly amused.

"That's between me and Santa."

"So have you been naughty or nice?" she queried and he rose to his feet and took a step towards her. Carrie took a step backwards.

"A little bit of both?" he replied. "You?"

"I take the Fifth," she countered.

"I suppose it could be the first time Santa's been asked to jail a notorious terrorist …" Quinn mused thoughtfully and Carrie smiled despite herself.

"Thank you, Quinn. I know I didn't want to make things weird … but I'm used to doing things alone and … you … this … helping me like this. You didn't have to and I appreciate it." Carrie's voice was halting, awkward and Quinn smiled.

"We'll get them, you know … "

"What?"

"Brody … Nazir … we're going to bring down those fuckers … how could we not? You. Me. An unstoppable combination."

"And Max."

"And Max," Quinn agreed, the smile reaching his eyes for once. 

"And Quinn."

"Yeah?"

"You might as well come to Maggie's with me for Christmas. She's already been asking …"

He lifted his brows. "How could I refuse?"

*

"You do know it's Christmas Eve, right?" Quinn drawled as he leaned back in his chair in Dar Adal's office.

"I'm aware, Peter."

"And you summoned me in for what?" he queried, looking around Darl Adal's large but stark office. No personal touches in this office. No photographs of family. Commendations. Nothing that would give any hint as to the psyche of the man sitting in the chair behind the large, oak desk.

"It's actually fortunate you're still in town," Dar Adal mused. "We have a task for you."

"We?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

The door opened and a tall, powerfully built man walked in the room, his dark eyes sharp and slightly wary.

"David Estes, Director of Counterterrorism. Meet Peter Quinn – the man I mentioned who'll be able to help us."

"I've heard a lot about you," Estes told Quinn coolly.

"What's the mission that that's so important that you needed to interrupt my leave and call me in on Christmas Eve?" Quinn asked evenly. Dar Adal slid a plain folder across the desk towards him.

Quinn opened the folder and stared down at a series of photographs. 

Abu Nazir.

Nicholas Brody.

Carrie Mathison.

His face was expressionless as he studied the photographs. "What's the job?"

"Carrie Mathison – she's an analyst. Disgraced herself in Baghdad and was recalled to Langley."

"And?"

"She's been erratic lately .. obsessed with Nicholas Brody .. convinced he has ties to Abu Nazir. We need you to follow her – find out what she's doing. Who she talks to … we think she might be a security risk."

Quinn's gaze was cool and unruffled as it moved from Estes' face to Dar Adal's face. 

"Well, Peter? Can we depend on you for this?"

Quinn shrugged. "Sure. I'm your guy."

fin>

**Author's Note:**

> Exchange with my husband last night.
> 
>  **Husband:** Have you finished your fic yet?  
>  **Me:** Yes, sort of … just don’t know how to end it.  
>  **Husband:** Just kill everyone off.  
>  **Me:** It’s supposed to be a cheerful Christmas fic :P


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